


Epitaph

by A_Starry_Night



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen, Spoilers for Episode: s04e17-18 The End of Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 03:33:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16109909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Starry_Night/pseuds/A_Starry_Night
Summary: In which the Tenth Doctor regenerates.





	Epitaph

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first foray into writing DW fic, just a small introspective glimpse into what I saw in the Tenth Doctor's final story and his regeneration.

You hear the knocks, those four little innocent knocks against clear cool glass and instantly you realize. You know. It was never the Master, it was never the Time Lords you have now destroyed twice over. The prophecy

_he will knock four times_

instead speaks of a single human man.

And you know, too, without conscious thought, that this is the day of your death.

You’re angry. _Well exactly, look at you! Not remotely important!_

You’re selfish. _This is what I get… My reward._

You scream like a spoiled child. _Well it’s not fair!_

And then you fall silent. You think. You think about and recall a conversation spoken merely hours and yet lifetimes ago with this same old man who you know you will die for. And you realize just how far you’ve fallen. _…Lived too long._

He pleads and begs with you as you approach, begs you to leave him to die. So selfless. So brave

_because that’s who you are, Wilfred_

And you look him through the glass door, very afraid and your hearts racing—you’ve died from radiation before--- and yet know that you would do this every time if it meant saving Wilfred Mott’s life. _It’s my honor._

He’s saved.

You burn. Heat, terrible crushing horrifying heat engulfs you like a wave, drowning you completely. It eats away at your bones and melts your flesh and forces you to your knees until you’re a shuddering, whimpering heap on the floor. You lie there curled like an infant as slowly the pain fades and your body absorbs the nuclear energy that flooded the compartment.

Wilfred is so innocent, so utterly naive, with what has happened. So relieved he does not notice your terrible tearless resignation

_it’s started_

And you prefer it that way. You cannot hate or resent this simple old man but you leave as soon as possible. You’re holding off the regeneration as long as you can even as the pain builds more and more and more. You see your old companions one final time, taking precious moments to look at them all through these eyes; Martha, Jack, Donna, Rose, and all the while you feel every cell in your body dying in earnest now, and you stagger through the falling snow of January 1st, 2005 until you can’t anymore and you fall on hands and knees. The Tardis is so very close and yet so very far away. You don’t know how the regeneration will turn out without Her help.

Then the air vibrates with song and there he is like a ghost

_we will sing to you, Doctor. The universe will sing you to your sleep._

and even as those words thrum like a death drum they somehow give you strength. 

You climb painfully back to your feet, hearing the Ood singing your lament as you do so, and you limp your way to the Tardis. You nearly collapse against the door as you close it.  
Finally you move again. Throwing your coat aside seems another finalizing act. You won’t wear it again. Your hands glow golden from the regeneration energy as you walk around the console, sending the Tardis into space. Not long now.

One last time you look around the room. The Ood’s song echoes in your head, their farewell, and you feel tears burning your eyes as you realize you simply

_don’t want to go._

But the universe is not a kind place. No amount of wishing or pleading will change fate and finally the regeneration slips from your control and explodes outwards, harsh and unforgiving, and the Tardis is torn apart right along with you.

And for one single moment of final clarity in this body, you realize one thing.

The Ood’s song is not only a lament.

It is your epitaph.

~/~/~/~/~

_Here rests his head upon the Earth_  
A youth to fortune and to Fame unknown.  
Fair Science frowned not upon his humble birth,  
And Melancholy marked him for her own. -‘Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard’, Thomas Gray


End file.
